


Last Year's Winter

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boltons rule Winterfell, F/M, Wildling!Lyanna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8528638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: A Raven long gone promises a Wolf the return of former glory in exchange for one small favour. Not one to look the gift horse in the mouth, Lyanna is willing to meet the demands of the highly deluded, to her mind, creature as long as it means she might see Winterfell in rightful keeping once more.It turns out, though, that even the best laid plans have a tendency of going awry. And when she finds herself receiving more than she bargained for the brilliance of it all loses its shine.AU! The dubious claim of Lord Bolton upon the North is challenged by the sudden appearance of a supposed Stark.





	1. i. The Girl Who Whispered To Winter

 

 

 

 

 

 

Benjen's stare maintained its dubious quality even as his hands patted down her shoulders in an attempt to help the pelt settle. “I wish you wouldn’t,” he answered, long overdue. Picking lint from her garb her brother heaved a sigh, his bared forearms rising around her. “It won’t make you happy. I won’t make me happy. And it will not make Brandon happy. Most certainly the last one. He even got into an argument with Twigs over it.”

“Stop trying to convince me to give up,” she scowled. “I have spent long enough being that kneeler’s daughter. I want to prove to them that I am just as good; nay, better.” His own lips curled downwards. Still he nodded.

Neither was a stranger to the long looks and derisive smiles. Lyanna had done whatever she could throughout her growing years to convince them all that they’d no wish to break from this place which had taken them in and sheltered them. Alas, it was difficult to wash the work of her kin away. And just because her lips said it, it meant naught in the eyes of these people, who have seen the strange ways of kneelers permeate every single action of her and her siblings.

“See mother before you go,” Benjen prompted, drawing away. “I will make sure there is naught you lack in the meantime.”

A grateful nod came from her. Lyanna turned away from here youngest sibling and moved towards the hide covering the entrance. She peeked without before doubt bled into determination. Her fingers gripped the lower edge and she pulled the skin back. There was no one waiting. Relief lingered for a few moments. She stepped into the thick layer of snow, boots sinking into the white depths. Lyanna glanced about at the milling people.  They were preparing as well, tallow candles exchanging hands.

She did not linger long but made her way further, stepping away from the circle of the living, she searched for the jagged rocks resting upon dormant planes. They were not difficult to find. Lyanna knelt by the one where she recalled the ashes being buried and her hand dipped into the blanket of ice-cold snow. “Mother, I have come to ask for your blessings.” A cold gust of wind slapped her across the face, lifting rebelling wisps high over her shoulder. Biting into the softness of her lip, Lyanna wiped some of the snow away. “I know you would not have agreed, but still, it is for the best.” What other explanation was there? “You’ve seen what they did the last we gave no blood. What is one measly child to the lives of the lot of us?”

She suspected her words were lost on the dead woman. Then again, Lady Lyarra had never truly grown used to their diminished state or impoverishment. Her father had taken it much better, but never well enough to let go of his noble origin. Nay, he’d not understood the sacrifice either, and for that he’d paid with his life.

Climbing to her feet, she wiped away the excess snow hanging upon the boiled leather. “I hope you shall be proud of me when we see one another again. Fare thee well, lady mother.” There was no answer, not even an angry gale passing her by. Lyanna took it for acceptance. She wondered if she ought to try and find father’s spot, but tales made little sense as maps. And father would not have wanted her wandering that far off without a single means of knowing whether she’d reached her aim or nay.

So, without another word to the small mounds and their rocks, she turned on her heel and trudged through the snow, following the earlier trail, her steps measured. Bells jingled from somewhere ahead, signalling that the time was drawing near. A chill wracked her frame at the jaunty sounds, as though it was not occasion for mourning.

They had likely gathered all the fatherless babes in the village and rounded them up together in pitiful display. The youngest, she knew, would be yet a moon turn’s age. The elders would deliberate, their talk winding on and on and on until they reached some conclusion. And then she’d have her hands full and her task ahead of her.

It was not an enviable situation. Nor one she thought to boast of, but she had to do it. It would bring her all she’d ever wished for. ‘Twas a pity a babe would be the price, but then the freefolk had been paying their tithes in babe blood for thousands of years. She was not the first or the least to do it. And she, unlike the others, asked the forgiveness of the gods for these deeds. Suffice to say that Lyanna had isolated herself from any one single element of guilt, forcing the notion upon those whose customs and practices she had adopted.     

She passed one of the outer huts, lying abandoned and in disrepair when before her jumped Willow, her arms full of thin sticks. “Twigs wants to know if you’ve might be changed your mind. One of us can go and do it if you’re too much of a craven, you know.”

Eyes slanting in a glare, Lyanna shook her head vehemently. “I am no craven and I will do it.” She just wished they would stop asking her every few minutes. “Tell Twigs an army of Walkers would not stop me.”

The girl laughed, flashing slightly crooked teeth. “We’ll see.” Her arms tightened their hold upon her possessions. “The elders have begun deliberating . Run along, kneeler.”

Lyanna picked up her pace, moving past Willow, fuming silently. But she’d not been lied to; the elders had gathered together and were murmuring in low voices. One of them gestured towards a thin babe. The gaunt-cheeked creature was shivering in his mother’s arms, shaking like a leaf. But another man shook his head and nodded towards a sturdier lad.

She too looked the prospective sacrifices over.  Her eyes lingered on the last in the row. His father had died on the hunt, a blow from an enemy his companions had said when they’d burnt the body. He’d left behind a young mother who was much too weak-minded to protect her young. Even now, the woman’s benign gaze wandered about as though death did not wait for her son.

A hand dropped to her shoulder, causing her gaze to fly away to her brother’s face. Benjen pinned her with his own stare. He offered her a small satchel. “I’ve put some bread in too. My knife as well, if you should need it.”

“What will you be using?” Father’s knife had been in Benjen’s possession since the man’s death. “I won’t take that. I have my bow and arrows. It will be enough.” She was not going to seek out danger at any rate, and provided no snowstorm came, she could easily hunt down a rabbit or some other shall beast to feast upon.   

“Nevertheless, take the knife as well.” He patted the sword hanging upon his belt. “Well protected as I am, I shan’t miss it. “And try not to prolong your stay there needlessly. Whatever you hear or see, hurry back to us, aye?”

Just because he’d faced off against a few wights her brother was certain he knew everything. Lyanna shook her head fondly, clucking her tongue at him. She opened the satchel. Atop other objects was indeed the knife. “If you insist.” She closed it once more, trying the string together and slinging it across her back. “When Brandon and Ned return, try not to make them worry.” While she thought the two would know better than to go chasing after her, one could never be too certain. “If need be, you’ve my permission to knock them hard on the head.”

“But your floors would be ruined,” her kin commented, the light touch of misanthropy burrowing deep into her heart like the thorn of a wild rose. “Look, I believe they’ve chosen the victim for this unholy display.”

“It keeps us safe, Ben.” The reminder did not predispose her brother towards leniency.

“Fight would mean an effort besides, I agree. But we would not be selling our own like cattle.” He shrugged at the cross look she sent him. “You want to be one of them; I understand. But do not expect that I will congratulate you for it.”

“I never asked it of you,” she returned coolly, facing away from him. Indeed, it turned out a babe had been chosen. One of the elders stepped towards a woman and held his arms out. The mother’s face had paled severely. She shook her head, the minute gesture joined by an attempt to make eye-contact with someone in the crowd. She failed.

Seeing herself without support, the mother fell to her knees and began begging, her voice rising towards the heavens in high-pitched promises. But no one listened. Another elder moved around her and grabbed at her shoulders as the first ripped the child from her arms. Scrambling against her captor the woman wailed for her babe and the child in turn cried for her. She was passed onto her kin who secured her away.

The time had come. Lyanna stepped into the circle, eying the child. He was still weeping, fat tears rolling down cold-reddened cheeks. The elders appraised her all at once, the eerie similitude of their movements putting her on edge.

“You will carry this child to be paid as tribute,” the foremost in importance among them spoke. She nodded. “You will make certain he survives the journey. Should you fail, your life is forfeited.” Again, she nodded. “You will not withhold from our enemy their due.” It was not as though she did not know all that. Lyanna complied again and again until no more words were forthcoming.

The swaddled babe was placed in her arms along with a command to go forth and essentially consign the poor creature to certain death. She accepted that as well, steeling herself against the whines and weeping of the swaddling. Holding the child securely to her chest, she resisted the urge to look down into the red face and offer comfort. He would soon meet the forefathers in Death’s halls and have no need of kind words ever again.

Before she could depart though, Twigs broke from the crowd and slapped a hand against her shoulder. “Travel safely and return our sister,” she said, her voice kinder than ever before. “We will be waiting for you.”

Tersely, she signalled her agreement, clutching the child tighter than before. The small ball of human flesh screeched at the handling, forcing her to readjust her grip and pull away from Twigs. The woman let her be, returning to her fellow sisters. That was all the encouragement she would ever get from that corner and for good reason.

Until she’d disposed of the babe, they would all keep their word short for fear of attracting attention upon themselves. Lyanna was not bothered by it. They’d not been the most talkative of folks even before. But at least now, when she returned, they would no longer sneer at her. Who would dare?

Without further ado, she left the tight rings of people to their talk, briskly walking towards the narrow path leading to the altars.

The altars were no sept or even temple of the gods like the ones mother had spoken of. There was non weirwood tree, not one that lived at any rate. There stood a dried husk among a circle of rocks, having once bore blood-red leaves as its crowning beauty, but no longer. The people had chosen to leave there the offerings for some reason, might be thinking that even a dead god was better than none. She’d never asked. She would near the altars at sunset and leave the boy there; once done, she could easily find shelter for a short rest before returning.

Benjen walked behind her. She heard his steps crunching, but never turned towards him, minding the babe instead. Once the beginning of the woods stretched out before her the steps stopped. Once more she ignored the change.

Lyanna walked through the sprouting trees, careful of her step and even more so of the precious possession she held. The child had quietened after some time, cried melting into whimpers and then into silence. She’d stopped only a few short times to rock him back and forth and feed him, for all the good that did him, but for better or worse, he took to that.

Looking up, Lyanna determined that the sun had reached zenith. She should be nearing the caves, the thought came to her. Her infant companion whimpered and tried to escape the cruel bindings of the swaddle-cloth. To no avail. His attempts were hampered. “There now, no need for that.” Sitting down  in the snow, she loosened the obstructing material a little, allowing for movement of limbs. As though in reply for the kindness a sound reached her ears.

For the first time, she allowed herself to truly look at the child, to study every line. Aught hit her, suspiciously reminiscent of bitterness and the taste of copper. Refusing to give in, she felt her lips thin. Lyanna blinked down into the face of the one she would forsake. Innocent eyes peered back at her from behind spread fingers. “’Tis for naught you try to melt my heart,” she warned, “I need to do this. And you need to do it as well, for the good of us all.”

But what about his own good? The thought latched onto her, stabbing at the soft underbelly of morality beneath the hard shell. He would never grow, never see the snow thaw and form puddles, never have friends or a family of his own, never carry a weapon into battle. Her mind dragged forth images of her own brothers wildly pleased with themselves over various accomplishments. The heat of anger bloomed in her cheeks. “Nay,” she whispered. ‘Twas not the same. Not at all.      

But the child in her grasp felt a human, just like any other. Just like her brothers. “Still you shan’t convince me.” It was the sitting and the observing, she decided. It would be best if she were to continue of her journey and not given him any attention from then forth.

Easier said than done though, for as she reached the caves, the child had started to warm up on her. It was the same sort of feeling she’d had holding her long gone brother in the crook of her elbow. The same warmth spreading within her. The scent of snow and mother’s milk mixed within her nostrils and a knot formed in her throat.

The caves loomed ahead, wide gaping mouth awaiting their arrival. Lyanna hurried up the crudely carved stairs and into the brief darkness. She walked straight ahead as she’d been instructed and soon enough found herself at the other end.

The road stretched on, a thin ribbon leading her closer and closet to savage lands more dangerous than her own. She followed the path with nary a word  or thought of protest, her iron grip upon the latter testament to the power of one’s will.

By the time she’d overcame most of the distance the sun was already dipping towards the horizon line, the first stars appearing in the dying light. She glanced towards the bright lights, like candles in a sea of azure and sighed to herself. The child had fallen asleep.

One of the first signs of success was a line of stones marking some sort of threshold. Lyanna looked at the line with welling relief. Even with the best of her attempts, her heart would not leave her be. She stepped over the line gingerly, glancing at the child. He’d woken, lips curling in a perfect show of dissatisfaction.

Had he somehow grown aware of the danger ahead? Lyanna doubted it. Nevertheless, she shushed the boy and delved deeper into the first altar. She passed various formations of rocks, cairns might be, and came to the second one. This was too looked like its predecessor, circles of stones marking the gods knew what. She did not think weirwoods grew in troves so it was unlikely they circled past resting places of the gods.

The third altar was the one she sought. The dried weirwood yet lingered in its midst, banks of snow having gathered at the decaying roots. Lyanna approached cautiously. A thin sheet of ice beneath her feet made the journey that much harder. She did not give up though, for the objective was close at hand. It was at that point the babe decided to release an ear-splitting shriek.

 Unable to disentangle fast enough from him just in case the pitiful wails affected her, Lyanna placed him clumsily upon the thick blanket of snow and turned her back upon him, hurrying away from the sight of her own weakness. She’d made it halfway to the second altar before her foot caught on aught and she found herself flying towards the ground. Instinctively she threw her hands out, hoping to cushion the fall. The impact was still enough for her to cry out. The babe had not stopped either. Her eyes rose to the dusky skies.

She had to leave. Before she did aught she might regret.

Growing in intensity, the child’s voice called her back. He would make himself ill if he carried on so. Lyanna tried, she truly did, to force herself onwards. But her body was at war with her mind, and her heart tugged on both towards the suffering. She turned around to see one hand rising from the snow. Before she even realised what she was doing, her legs were pumping vigorously through the air, carrying her towards the third altar.

She knelt in the snow and picked the sacrifice in her arms, cuddling it against her chest. “Stop crying, little one. I’m not leaving you here. I’m not abandoning you. ” Bundling him up with one of her own furs, Lyanna left lying upon the ground an empty swaddle-cloth.

Once darkness came there would be no chance of escape. She had to hurry.

Carrying the babe backwards through the altars it occurred to her she could not return to the village. They would never take the child back, furthermore they would kill them both. She could not take the same road then. Better to find some other place.

Picking a direction at random, she tried keeping the child quiet as the thick layers beneath them slowed down any progress. Before long there would be naught left but stars upon the sky. Panic welled up within her. Bogged and exposed to all sorts of dangers, Lyanna dared a glance behind her. There was naught but woods and a tiny bit of the altars to be seen somewhere in the distance.   

No choice left she pushed forth, leaving further and further behind the accursed place. And for a time it seemed she had done right as the sun slowly burned out.

Her hope held out until she heard the sound of galloping horses. The sound came from no particular direction yet from them all at the very same time, almost as though she’d been surrounded. A prickle of awareness doused her optimism. She pushed down her satchel and grabbed from within the knife. One-armed and tired, she would never be able to face them. Still, she had tried to do right by the child. If she gave him up now without a fight, what would that make her?

The sound was drawing closer. She heard snorts and thumps.

A first figure cut through the line of trees, the great form maintaining an icy glow even in the low light. Blood frozen in her veins, Lyanna lifted up her weapon as the child howled. The creature dismounted slowly, as though it knew there was no escape. Lyanna was not certain what frightened her more, the fact that it coolly went about is business or that she could not move a muscle. Upon further consideration, it had to be the fact that aught was moving behind the being, a cluster of shadows.

The sun had been knocked out of the skies.

Without a second thought she turned and fled, running as fast as her worn legs could manage. Aught told her she made for a pitiful sight, but any shred of courage melted in the face of such odds.

Depleted and feeling herself tailed, she dared not glance over her shoulder, and better that she didn’t for it would have surely made her lose her footing. As it was, her legs trembled, pain snaking its way into burning muscles. Lungs screamed out in protest, air coming in short gasps. The end was near. She could taste defeat and despair. Her knees buckled.

Down she spiralled.

A frustrated cry choked its way past her lips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain damage...yay!!!!


	2. Elsewhere

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crushed beneath the weight of her knees and palm, the snow crunched sickeningly, as though bones had broken in the fall, thin lines of ice and frost fractured mercilessly. They had no escape, just as she too had none. The creature behind her was fast approaching. She could hear every single step trudging through the snow. And then there were those shadows. The gods only knew what those were, lurking behind thick barricades of trees, waiting to crawl out. She was surprised they’d not jumped into attack. But then the dying light of the fading sun still lingered, holding on by the skin of its teeth. One last effort before it fell into whatever deep sleep awaited on the other side. On the morrow it would greet the world once more. But not she. Or the babe.

Consumed with the thought, Lyanna braved the screaming within her own head and slowly turned her head to glance over her shoulder. Had she the necessary lung power, she might have cried out for mercy or some similar words. But all she managed was a choked sound. It sprang past her lips rolling between her and the pursuer, stretching along the distance.

The man seemed neither pleased nor impressed. Or rather what Lyanna thought was a man. Granted the features, polished to perfection did not tell her very much about what it was. And the boy, covered as it was in some sort of thin armour even less.  She supposed it need not be either. The fact of its sex did not matter. What concerned her to a higher degree was the weapon it carried. Long and thin, it resembled the broadsword of knights, much too gifted in length to be a bastard sword, although the width spoke more of that.

“Let us leave,” she managed through chattering teeth. She was cold. Lyanna just realised that. Water had seeped into her furs, ruining the sliver of warmth. “We’ll go and never return again,” she tried, eyes flickering from the face to the sword.” You needn’t bother with us.”

For the first time, the being gave signs that it understood aught other than a need to lay waste. It cocked its head to the side and paused. A low hiss shuddered past its lips, as though in response to her plea. Goosebumps rose all over her skin, hairs standing on end. There was aught about that manner of speech. Lyanna could not place it.

She was just about to venture a second attempt when its mouth opened, revealing blindingly white teeth. Almost as though it smiled down at her. The sword climbed towards the heavens, a lone glint accompanying the ascent.  All that’s she could do was close her eyes against the horror of realisation. She had gambled her life on the slim possibility of escape.

And she had failed.

A wail rose towards those same heavens which had abandoned her to this fate.

“Halt!” The cry rang out all around. It was enough to slow the creature down. Her eyes sought the source of the sound as all living froze up around her.

Ahead, a mounted figure rode towards them. Upon a great elk no less. Lyanna’s wide eyes took in the black rags and the well-formed frame of her would-be saviour. She realised without much struggle that the garb he bore was eerily similar to that of a Night’s Watch man. Against the darkening backdrop of a bleeding –away daylight, he looked a wound, an old bruise yet unfaded, fed might be by the cold and damp.

But he had bought her time. And Lyanna took heart like never before. She’d not planned on aught but shifting, yet she was on her feet before she knew it with a strong shove against the earth, and running on unsteady legs, bumbling through her grand escape.

The black figure had drawn closer yet, but remained on the portion which fell deeper into the woods against the thin ribbon of road which had led her here. He beckoned to her, gravely voice rising once more. “The sun is not yet gone.” It seemed to her he spoke to the being behind her. Lyanna did not stop to look though. She arrived at the elk’s side, breathing hard and clutching a now whimpering child. A gloved hand dropped before her eyes, thin black leather cast a deeper colour by the shadows falling upon it.

She handed the babe up, knowing she would never be able to made the climb with her arms full. The stranger took the child. He held the babe in the crook on his arm, returning an empty hand to her, the inviting gesture accompanied by a snort from the beast. Lyanna had no complaints though. She reached for the gloved hand and placed her own in it.

A yelp left her lips. The chilled limb beneath her own, gripped her hard, shaking her out of whatever thoughts she’d entertained. It was no glove she held, but rather frozen skin. The realisation did not naught to undermine her will to leave with the man. Soon she was atop the beast as well and the man lightly commanded the creature to turn onto the path.

“We must make haste. The creature cannot follow the ley-lines, but its minions are more than capable of chasing us down. The sun will not protect us any longer.”

Minions? A stab of worry wracked her. That was what she3 had seen in those shadows then. The helpers of whatever this was. Careful of the babe, she wound her arms around the man’s waist and tried to grow used to the width of the animal they rode. How long had it been since she’d had anything of the like?

Yet she could not allow herself to fall prey to the enjoyment she found in it. They were still being followed. “What do you mean it cannot travel the ley-lines? And what is it exactly?” Her suspicions ran towards more than just snarks and grumkins. Once more she shuddered at the memory of that face, impossibly beautiful. And cold, as the deepest winter.

“Precisely what you believe it to be.” The man pulled on the reins of the lumbering beast, steering it even more to the side. “The light is gone now. They will begin moving towards us now. Many await in the shadows.”

That she did not doubt. Lyanna could feel the malevolent stares resting upon them. She bit into her lower lip and hid her face away from sight. “Can we escape them?”

“Might be,” the stranger offered. “What you’ve done has angered them all. You should have just left the child there. They would have allowed your return unmolested.”

“What good is that when this babe’s blood is upon my hands?” she snapped. She would have loved little more than to be able to return with nary a thought for the small creature. But she had failed in that as well. “No one deserves whatever fate awaited the boy there.”

“You do not even know,” the man pointed out. “Best not to dwell on it. I shall take you somewhere safe.”

“What do you want in return?” she questioned, tightening her hold on him. She could no longer hear the babe’s sounds. Had he fallen asleep? She could not even peek over her saviour’s shoulder. Even seated she could make out he was on an impressive height. Lyanna went in her mind over what she possessed at the moment. “I have some food.”

Deep laughter shook his frame, rolling all the way into her mind. It was not an unpleasant sound. “I’ve no need of food. You may keep it and feed yourself and your babe.”

Gritting her teeth together, Lyanna tried to keep from allowing her temper to flare. “I’ve a dagger. Good craftsmanship. It belonged to my father once. He brought it from beyond the Wall. If you want it, it’s yours.”

His chest rumbled. “I have no need of your weapon either. Keep it, and protect yourself and your babe.”

“Then what do you want?” There was only one more thing she could give. And that Lyanna had no wish to part from in this manner. “Surely you know that there is only so much I could carry with me.”

“I have no wish for your body either,” he let her know, making Lyanna wonder if he could read her mind. “Naught which might please a man pleases me.” Her eyebrow rose at that. Might be he did not prefer woman. She did not venture the question. What manner of gratitude would that be? “If you wish though, you may reward me by listening to a proposition.”

Suspicion returned with whiplash speed. “A proposition, you say.” Might be she would have to give aught up. “Very well; I agree to it.”

“Good then.”

They followed the ley-lines even with the shuffling sounds coming from behind them. Lyanna was not quite certain what was holding their enemies back, but whenever she gazed over her shoulder, the shadows kept a short distance between themselves and the elk.

“We will need to stop soon. There are some caves up ahead. If you make a fire, we should be safe.” That monotone voice of his helped her a lot, Lyanna realised. The fact that he neither worried nor thrilled at their escape kept her balanced as well.

“With what? I have no wood.” A fire; they might just as well reach for the impossible. “And neither do you.”

The man did not lose his composure even then. “I visit those caves often enough. There is enough wood there for a small fire.” And it was all right as rain. She could hardly credit it, but there it was. Her salvation, a few steps ahead, according to this stranger who had pulled her out of danger.   

As promised, they reached a rock formation which resembled the structure he’d mentioned. Lyanna hopped down from the beast’s back without a second thought, trying not to pay heed to the sounds coming from a short distance away. She took the babe in her arms and entered the cave after the man. Hooves followed.

“Place the child upon the ground near the wall and take out your weapon,” he instructed. “Stand next to him and do not move unless I say so.”

She nodded, and then recalled there was no light to show it to him by. “I understand.”

Easier said than done though. Lyanna managed to find the wall, but everywhere she stepped, sharp rocks littered the path. After a few moments of helpless terror had trickled by she finally felt beneath her feet a smooth surface. Without a moment’s hesitation, she crouched down and felt it with her free hand. It truly was smooth. Once she placed the babe upon it, she quickly rummaged about for the knife. Thankfully, she had remembered to take it back, somehow. She did not even recall doing it. All her memories revolved around the sheer panic of knowing herself in the path of such danger. Calming herself with a light sound, Lyanna griped the weapon.

If one of those beings came in, how was she to approach it? Judging by it’s size even a well-mounted attack would not dispatch it with ease. Considering she was all fingers and thumbs in her fright, the chances were not looking all that great.

A sudden burst of light flared through the cavern, the warm glow plastering shadows against the walls. Lyanna’s eyes widened. She had not expected it to work. Turning to face the flames, she could make out the form of her companion clearly. He still covered his face heavily, allowing naught but his eyes to show. “You may come closer. Bring the child as well.”

Without comment she took the babe from his spot and carried him over, settling the bundle of human flesh in her lap, careful of the dangers around. “Are they still here?” she asked about their pursuers,

The man gave a shallow nod. “Look without.” His hand moved to point into the gaping darkness, finger black and swollen, as though blood pudding had been stuffed within it. Frostbite, her mind called forth, easily excusing the somewhat peculiar sight. “You can see them move about. They are waiting on their master’s word. Or might be they fear the fire.

“The fire?” Not unlike his words had promised, the cave was furnished with dry wood. A pile of it rested still behind the man, despite him having used a good number of twigs to create the roaring flames keeping them warm.    

“Ley-lines and fire are the only worthy weapons you have in this fight. That dagger of yours is plain steel, it shan’t even daunt their master and they, well, they are long dead. A stab is to them as naught.” Her eyes struggled to make out the shapes at those words, worry prickling its way down her spine. The bristling gave her pause. She turned to face the man only to find his eyes planted firmly upon her. Lyanna felt her mouth go dry. Unperturbed, he pulled the sword from his belt and rested it against the wall.

“Why did you help us?” Dropping her gaze to the child nestled in her lap, Lyanna busied herself with making certain the furs wrapped around him kept him warm. She brushed a hand over the soft dappled coat, soft bristles tickling her palm.

“I was asked to do so.” Captivated, she struggled against the desire to look at him once more. Instead Lyanna continued her inspection, making a small sound of interest, an invitation for him to go on. He did not keep her waiting. “You should not ask questions upon which you desire no answer. Think well before questioning any further.”

“You make it sound as though there is some great secret which must be kept under wraps.” Reaching out she held her hand above the flames, allowing the warmth to seep into her skin. The pleasant caress caused the numbness to dissipate. “If you do not wish me to ask, you must simply state so. After all, ‘tis I who owes my life to you.”

“It is not a matter of my wish,” he laughed, the sound coming from deep within him. It made the whole cave shake, that sound, and the shadows without rustled noiselessly, shifting. “Were it up to be, none of it would be. Alas, I must endure yet more of this.”

“Have you any name you go by?” she aptly pushed away from the previous subject. Aught told her if she pushed any further, she would in fact find a tad more than she had any desire of knowing. Ignorance was bliss, as her middle brother often said.

And speaking of ignorance, she could only hope her kin would remain thoroughly ignorant as to what had happened. Them and the rest of the village. If anything, it would be best for them to believe she’d been set upon by a wild beast. Not at all out of the scope of reality.

From the corner of her eyes she caught sight of him shifting, moving one of his legs, drawing it up against his chest. The fire crackled, wood bursting with a deafening crunch in the ensuing silence. The noise faded, leaving behind the faint pops to keep them company. Lyanna waited still upon the name, eyeing the sleeping babe with some interest. His cheeks had begun to pinken, an effect of lying next to the fire. At the very least she could tell all was well with him from the slow rise and fall of his chest. Retracting her hand from the flames she touched one fire-warmed finger to the soft cheek, feeling the skin and fat dipping beneath her touch. It felt akin to the silk of her mother’s skirts. She could recall faintly hugging it to her chest as a small child, those folds brushing against her face and hands. All those folds coming together in brilliant formation. There were times when she missed that life.

 Or might be there was never a day that went by without her missing it. Suppressing her dissatisfaction, she moved to the other cheek, testing the flesh’s elasticity in the same manner. “You do have a name, don’t you?” she pressed further once her patience wore off. “Everyone does.”

“Not everyone.” He was moving again. His clothes, threadbare as they were, rustled. “Many of those dwelling in these lands do not.”

He must have been speaking of children, babes at their mother’s bosom. Lyanna pursed her lips. “A bit late to invoke that,” she countered, gaze following the path to his. “Is it not for me to know?”

“I cannot recall it,” he offered at long last. “Whatever it was, it has long since slipped my mind.”

A wound, might be. She’d heard tales before. Of men knocking their heads against heavy stones or the hard ground. And did it truly matter whether he had a name or not? He could just as well aid her without one. And she need only cry out some unintelligible sound if she needed him. A grimace formed upon her face. “But you need a name. You have to be someone.”

“As I said, the time is past.” The response did not convince her either.

“We can choose a name together.” And might be she would go against the grain and name the infant as well.  She’d not died, even with death knowing fully well what to call her by.

A sigh slithered past the man’s lips. “There is no need.” Lyanna suspected he was slightly ill at ease with her insistence. A man alone ought to be, she supposed. After all, a name betrayed.

“You are obstinate,” she allowed with a light smile, “but I am twice more so. You can choose a name of yourself or I can choose one for you. But you shall have a name, I will be using it and no argument will deter me.” No argument came forth from him which she took to mean he agreed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should bring Rhaegar in soon. Soon, as always. Lol.


	3. Together We Live Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME SKIP
> 
> Music: [ Clint Mansell - Together We Will Live Forever (youtube) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swAicg0GjNg)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhaella brushed the child’s hair back lovingly, cooing at the babe. “I can tell he’ll be a handsome devil. All those hearts he’ll break.” A sigh left her lips. “Like his father.” She looked up at him then, a smile upon her lips. The bruise circling her wrist has lost some of its intensity, the sickly mottled yellow duller than before. “Nearly broke mine too, son. I thought you would not come after all.”

Rhaegar looked down into the half-empty cup of tea. The drink was still as bitter as he remembered it being in his childhood. Might be he should have put in some honey as well. But then, the sweetness would not agree with him either. “I would have. In the end,” he admitted with half annoyance and half aught he couldn’t name. Fear, mayhap.  “I simply thought it best to give father some time.” To slip out of his sight, rather. As long as he kept his men quiet, they could work aught out.

“My boy, when will you learn?” His mother rose, the babe still clutched to her chest. Aegon made a soft sound, whimper-like. “He likes knowing everything there is to know. However well you might secret away anything, there will always be someone willing to tell.” She handed the child back to the wetnurse. The woman, well used to the babe’s fussy nature, simply tucked him away in her arms and turned to speak in low tones to the girl watching from her cluster of wooden beasts.

“Then I had best find many more who would not. Or else be done with this nonsense.” He did not understand the reluctance. Fear was easier to grasp. If they failed, they failed and forfeited their lives, their lands and houses. Or might be nay. The King would not kill half of his landed lords and knights. But to not even be willing to entertain the notion. “Tell me, have you given my proposition any thought?”

The woman cocked her head to the side. “How well you love me. Never you mind that, Rhaegar. I am perfectly capable of fending off even the worst of his moods. Nay, what is important now is that you find yourself another wife. Someone who will hopefully work to bring her own great house to your cause.”

“So soon? Nay, Dorne would protest loudly. ‘Tis already a strained enough relationship. Doran Martell would have my son wed his daughter. I have not answered him as he would have wished. Imagine his reaction should I take another bride when his sister’s corpse has yet to cool.” Elia’s death complicated it all tremendously. “Should I have expected it? Was I a fool for believing that she would be well?” Had she been one for convincing him another child would not bring her harm? That he did not ask of his lady mother. True friend that she’d been to his late wife’s kin, the Queen would insist ‘twas all a matter of ill luck.

“Naught can be done for it,” Rhaella said after a matter of moments in which she’d kept her own counsel. “The poor woman could not help it anymore than any other would have been able to. But she is gone. And it is now past. Why not at the very least attempt see to your interests.”

“As I said, ‘tis much too soon to be making such plans.” He was about to reveal to her what he did wish to do though, when a light weight slapped against the top of his thigh with the force of a summer gale. He glanced down, noting that Rhaenys was gazing up at him with soft, wide, slightly wet eyes. Her mouth pinched as though she suffered under the merciless effects of some ague. “Up,” she ordered imperiously, curling his fingers into the firm leather encasing his leg.

“Up, is it?” he asked softly back, not moving to do her bidding. She did not retract her wish though. Instead tugged on the boiled leather harder. Her lips pulled in a pout. “If that be the Princess’ desire, who am I to naysay?” Upon a sight he lifted her upon his knee, balancing her gently.  The first thing his daughter did was tug upon the ends of his bound hair. Endless fascination with any sort of tresses oft had her reaching out thus, be the person servant or nay.

Aught the like of a chuckle came from his mother. “One is supposed to smile at children, my son. They want it, but more they expect it of you. My granddaughter most of all.” Rhaenys craned her neck to look at the Queen and babbled aught in confirmation.  Rhaegar simply moved her so she might sit in his lap and be able to look her fill about the chamber.

His mother continued, “Now then, I don’t suppose I could persuade you to sit a while with Viserys. He’s been so excited at the news you were coming. It would do him a world of good to have his older brother speak a few kind words.”

“If you wish it of me, mother, I shall.” It could not do him any good to be forever held to the example of their father, Rhaegar mused, moving his hand until it stroked his daughter’s tresses. “Why is he not away squiring. The boy is of an age, is he not?”

“You know your father, no single lord is good enough to provide example for a malleable mind like Viserys’. Or so he says. Might be when he is older.” She shrugged as if to say it made no difference. “You were older than he is now when you became a squire.” To be fair he’d been older than most boys had been. Rhaegar offered naught in return. “Well then, if you shan’t wed and neither wish to stay here, will you be returning to Dragonstone soon?”

“I’ve been thinking of visiting great-uncle. I would see him while there is still time.” A wisp-thin chuckle left his lips. “All his letters keep ending upon this dreary note that it might be the last and it seems to me he wishes I postponed the journey no longer.”

“You and Aemon. I ought to have known. I am very much surprised you did not make for the Wall before.” Her eyes fell to Rhaenys. “It is no journey for children, you know. ‘Tis long and hard. And the North is harsh.”

“I was going to leave them here in your care, lady mother.” In fact, the look upon her face told him she would not be opposed to it. Thus Rhaegar went on, “I do not plan on staying long. And father cannot suspect me on plotting. The Watch takes no part in matters of the realm.” There was no better position he could think of at the moment.

The realm was yet in turmoil over his wife’s death and he needed time of his own to come to grips with the new development. Lord When would understand the delay and Connington had promised he would continue working on convincing Baratheon. There was little more he could demand. Rhaegar gazed down at his firstborn. She leaned her head back and stared at him through those dark eyes. Did she know she would not be seeing him for some time yet? The moody expression she bore told him it might be the case.

“I should like little more than to have them.” She liked children after all. Rhaegar suspected she liked them even more when they gave her reason to keep her distance from her husband.”Would you like to stay with me for a little while, Rhae dearling?”

Rhaenys, still keeping her eyes upon him, responded by sticking her thumb in her mouth and sucking noisily upon the digit. He gave her an encouraging nod. “Answer when you are asked,” he spoke gently, so as not to startle her. It had never been his way to loudly proclaim anything, but then he found there was a certain way of speaking which ensured compliance from children best. She gave another strong suck and angled her head so that she could see his mother. Rhaegar pried her hand away and pressed it towards her lap. “There, that is a lot better. You can speak now.”

She gurgled, but beside that refused to say aught.

“I think she is yet shy of me,” Rhaella offered, her mien understanding. “Just for a little while you must stay with me,” she explained to the child. “Your father has matters to see to. And when he is gone, he will return?”

Panic flashed across his daughter’s features. She searched for his eyes and her lips fell open, “Leaving?” That was a sure sign that she was about to burst into tears, provided he did not assuage her fears.

“Nay, little one. I am not leaving.” Merely putting some distance between himself and his ever increasing number of troubles. “It would be better to see to this some other time.”

His daughter had developed a most strange attachment to his since her mother’s untimely demise. Woven into an already intricate enough relationship, it led to a sort of fear on her part. Rhaegar could not rightly appreciate the depths to which the issue troubled her. What he did know was that his child had gone from a mild, well-disposed babe to a whimpering tiny terror forever clinging to his legs. It was disconcerting. And much more difficult to fend off in the absence of a female’s intervention.

“Stay,” she muttered up at him, once more speaking upon an imperious note. It would b amusing were he not on the receiving end of such requests every few hours or so. He supposed he ought to be glad she was shaping up to have quite the backbone. Instead he found the whole of it daunting.

“I am.” Her hand, damp and stick, paused upon his own securing her against any potential threats. Rhaegar suppressed a grimace and wondered not for the first time how it was that Elia had kept her impatience in check around her.

“How sweet she is,” his mother cooed at the girl. “Never fear, in a few days she will have grown used to us and you won’t need to worry about her any longer. Reaching out she ruffled the child’s hair, fingers catching in the thick mass. “You know, I do think your father was half as pleased with her as he is with Aegon, but I daresay you dote upon her.”

She was not entirely correct ion her assessment, but Rhaegar spoke no words of protest. He did not see himself as doting upon any of his children. But Rhaenys stuck to him. He neither encouraged, nor discouraged her behaviour, save to allow her to play about him with no fear of retribution. If that was doting then it seemed to him parenting had been overly emphasised as being difficult. Yet he knew even as the consideration passed through his mind that it was a ludicrous thought. For the simple fact that he did not send the child away from him was as naught in the face of other behaviours he had seen.

“ She is my daughter. My only daughter.” For the moment. “As such she is entitled to my attention.” When she was older, he would see to finding her the best masters-at-arms. “Just as Aegon is my son, and he too has part of my attention.”

“Aegon is your heir,” the Queen corrected, drawing her hand away from his firstborn’s dark tresses. She smiled down at the child reassuringly. “Or have you decided to not declare him it? Dorne might be pleased. The rest of the realm, not so much. Do you plan to draw Lord Bolton to your side?”

“I need the North as well. Had he a daughter, I might have considered wedding her. As matters stand, his son is yet a squire and his wife is now dead.” He would see about the Boltons when he reached that hurdle. “The trouble with this lot is that the North still pines after House Stark.”   

“Old habits are notoriously difficult to break.” Rhaella glanced over to the wetnurse who was rocking the other babe to sleep. Rhaegar did not follow her gaze. The woman knew well enough what her duties were and she would not act outside of them. He paused midstroke though and lifted Rhaenys off of him.

“Go play with your toys,” he told her, placing her upon the ground. The child pouted and caught onto him yet again, but Rhaegar sternly refused. “You can bring them here if you wish, but I am not lifting you again.”

“You are too hard on her,” Rhaella cut in. “The girl is simply at a loss. Think only that she has just lost her mother. Is it wise to act thusly?” Instead of letting the matter drop, she caught the girl around her middle and lifted her in her own lap. “There, sit with grandmother for a little bit. And when father decided to stop being grouchy you may return to him.” Rhaenys seemed to accept the attention as her due. She leaned against the softer shape of her grandmother in what could almost be termed as affection. “This is why I tell you, you need wed sooner rather than later.”

“And you’ve just the person in mind.” Why had he not realised it sooner? Rhaegar resisted the urge to cross his arms over his chest. “I thought if I allowed you one choice you would be satisfied with that.” Careful to keep his voice flat, he locked gazes with her. “Why is it never enough?”

With a shake of the head, Rhaella dismissed his words. “Don’t take on so. I know you were disappointed, but you’ve two wonderful children and for better or worse one is your heir. You cannot reply on that though. The ills in this life are many. What happens should we be plagued by a bout of sweating sickness, or famine, or war? One single heir is not enough.”

“And thus I must again and again follow your dictates, mustn’t I?” The faint trace of amusement in his voice gave the woman visible pause. She recoiled, for a brief moment her face turning blank. He did not apologise. It was not his burden to bear. “At that time I allowed it in hopes of quelling father’s suspicions, given the new lord of Sunspear had just sworn fealty. It seemed proper that I wed the sister of such a faithful subject. But I am not your puppet.”

“I never saw you as such,” she denied, clasping her hands over her bosom, leaving Rhaenys leaning precariously forwards. “Whatever else you would think of me, I never once treated you as a means to an end.” Her eyes implored understanding. Reading people was growing easier and easier. His mother moved once more to catch the girl against her front. “You would not judge me so harshly.” It was an assurance she spoke more to herself than to him by the way her voice dropped.  

“No harsher than I would judge any other woman,” he allowed, picking up his cup. The tea had gone cold. Smooth liquid slid down his throat, dropping into the pit of his stomach like a bag heavy with rocks. “Why? Do you perchance fear my judgement?” Dread was dredged up upon her features. “You needn’t fear me, mother. I know yet well that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. So tell me, who has taken your fancy now?”

“Your father has no greater enemy than Lord Lannister at the moment.” The extinguished voice startled him. He’d grown used to her silence. In such a short amount of time too. “He would never directly allow such a marriage, but there are ways to circumvent him. Tywin Lannister is desirous that his on blood one day sit upon the throne. And his daughter is beautiful and young, most importantly in good health.”

A woman he had already insulted once by passing over her father’s proposal. Rhaegar remembered Cersei Lannister only as a girl. Young and sweet in her shyness. Were he the sort to concern himself with the beauty of maidens, he supposed he might have been pleased at the prospect.

“It matters little to me beyond her being in good health, but I believe Tywin will demand a high price for her hand. And I’ve already an heir, as you so kindly pointed out. The Lion is no fool.” And he was less even so. “Best to move your gaze upon another or bring a plague upon these two children of mine. I shan’t sacrifice them.” There had been a comet, blood-red, shooting through the skies. The risk was much too great.    

“She could well have a daughter. If you wed the daughter to Aegon then no one need be dissatisfied.” His mother tapped the tabletop with trimmed fingernails. “And Rhaenys could wed in her into her mother’s house. That ought to solve all troubles.” The grotesque notion flittered through his mind, arresting him in one fell swoop.

“And you can guarantee to me that woman will breed only daughters? What am I to do about the sons she’ll undoubtedly birth?” The way he saw it the several solutions presented themselves as such; divide all male children between the White Cloaks and the Black Brothers or slay them all while they still suckles at their mother’s breast. Whichever decision he took, the Westerlands would protest long and loud, his presumptive wife foremost among them.”You shan’t turn me into a kinslayer. Not even for the good of the realm. ‘Tis enough that we have known one Maegor the Cruel in our history.”

“Life will oft press unpalatable choice before you,” his mother offered as brief reminder. “At time it shall even offer no choice at all.”

“I know that now. Would that I had before.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that between the last two chapters there has been a several years time skip.
> 
> Furthermore, I am playing a bit here upon the more common 'cool as ice' trope concerning Rhaegar. The reason he comes across as detached is because he is detached, and furthermore cannot understand those around him. Note, he is not a sociopath, but rather a psychopath, with a very simple definition being the following:
> 
>  _a person with a psychopathic personality, which manifests as amoral and antisocial behavior, lack of ability to love or establish meaningful personal relationships, extreme egocentricity, failure to learn from experience, etc._ [source](http://www.dictionary.com/browse/psychopath).
> 
> The reason why I chose to make the distinction is because I do believe the canon character actually did have a moral fiber.
> 
> That said, see ya next time.


	4. Flugufrelsarinn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Flugufrelsarinn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WltiiJrqBVY)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The boy kept a sharp gaze upon him, filling the cup with utmost precision, as though he did it oft. Rhaegar had grown weary of his presence though. He wished to speak to Maester Aemon undisturbed. “Might be there is aught you would have of me,” he suggested, twirling his now full cup in a one perfect circle.

Old man that his great-uncle was, the proposition was met with silence. He considered no doubt in his mind all the grand needs of the Wall, discarding those wishes which reached too high. “I’ve need of naught, Your Grace. It is enough that I’ve not been forgotten now in my old age.”

“Who would dare forget a great man of his age?” The question presented itself as a fragile thing. Nevertheless, he meant it. At least in part. The black bother laughed, from deep within his chest. Rhaegar found himself with a small smile as response.

“Hardly a great man of my age,” Aemon Targaryen, once Prince of the realm, answered, slightly guttural. As thought aught had lodged in his throat. Tears, Rhaegar suspected, for all the sorrows visited upon him. Sometimes he wondered at the hardiness of such men. They seemed like stalks of grass, rising up winter after winter, no matter how many times they’d been frosted over. “I would not be truthful if I did not admit to it bringing me joy; it has been so long since I have seen my own kind. You must forgive an old fool his sentimental inclination upon such occasion.”

Rhaegar drank his wine, allowing the queer sentiment to wash over him. For as long as he could remember, he had reined in any such impulses of taking comfort in affable words. “I could never begrudge any man his happiness in mean spirit.” The boy had finally retreated, leaving only the two of them in the chamber.

Still not truly used to the harsh climate anymore than he was to the scarcity of the living conditions, he took his time taking in every detail. Might be he would see something to indicate a fondness that could be of use. His hopes were no very high in that regard. A man such as Maester Aemon would not allow his guard to slip thusly, despite his every assurance that as a Sworn Brother he had naught left to defend in this world other than this Wall. Of course, those were all sentiments fitted to his sworn vow, not the other way; he knew the nature of men and he knew the nature of power. His great-uncle had avoided losing his head or entering conflicts, but that in no way precluded further involvement or interest on his part. He did not venture into that subject though. It made no difference to him what advice the man would give to his own lady mother or if the Lord Hand still wrote from time to time.

“I never suspected you might.” The good maester wetted his own lips with a spot of wine, before blinking owlishly at him. “Upon the matter of your last letter, it simply seems to me that you should approach Lord Arryn with the matter. He holds the needs of the realm in high regard, but more than that his influence is greater yet with the Stormlands. Young Lord Robert depends upon him.”

No more than other men depended on various father figures, Rhaegar considered, nodding his head shallowly. “For all his blustering, he is a man easily led. If I recall correctly, he and Arryn’s heir have somewhat of a bond. Is it possible that winning one would bring me the other?”

“Very much so,” the older man allowed. “There is Lord Tully to consider as well.” The Fish he did not have much doubts about. That man had two daughters beside his heir. One was to wed into House Arryn and the other into House Baratheon. He would be tied to his cause, more or less. Thus he shrugged.

“If all goes well this time we shall not delay until failure is inevitable. It was most regrettable that our last attempt went as it did.” A niggling feeling latched onto him. Rhaegar downed some more wine.

“And you wife’s kin has decided in the end what position they will take?” A short sharp pain flashed through his head at the mention of his Dornish allies. “I take it there is naught of a certain nature. Do not despair; we’ve enough time. There need not be any rush.”

“Of course.” His mind worked through the memories of those long conversations, held in hushed tones, away from Elia’s sickbed so as to not upset her upon the one occasion her brother came to Dragonstone. Doran, not Oberyn. The young Martell was not at all the sort one wished to make plans with. She had been so sick then, having just birthed Rhaenys. “It would be unreasonable of me to demand more of them during such hard times.”

Elia had not wished him to attempt it, fearing for the lives of those she held dear. To her it would have been much better to wait, to allow the King to die on his own, or even give him aught. How many arguments had they carried out upon the matter? No one could have ever accused her of being weak of will. A pity it had not helped her in those last hours.

“Not as unreasonable as it would be of them to refuse.” A sigh left the other man’s lips. “Your Grace needs to know when it is time to push the matter.” If it was at all the time. “I fear another opportunity shall not arise soon.”

And this time he would not have a marriage and other duties to hide behind. Rhaegar’s jaw locked tightly as he digested the thought. He could not fail. Not after all the careful planning. His eyes rose to meet the maester’s. “I have no need of another opportunity. I have one more question to ask.”

“I will answer to the best of my capabilities.” The cup was placed upon the tabletop.

“How difficult is survival beyond the Wall?” Something lit in the opposite pair of eyes. Rhaegar waited for a single heartbeat’s length before he went on. “The Starks were driven out of their territory, but we both know the Night’s Watch takes no part, being able to neither shelter, nor hinder in such situations.”

“We can neither keep watch over them in lands not our own. For the first few turns our rangers spotted them by and by. Yet it has been years. Even if I wished it, it would be tremendously difficult to find them again.”

“But we can make an attempt.” He shifted in his seat. “Lord Manderly is of a mind that if we should manage it, the North will be secured.”

“And if these efforts should bear no fruit?” Aemon questioned, doubt trickling into his voice. Not that Rhaegar had expected any note of exuberance at revealing his plan. It usually was the case that such instances of perceived kindness were a stepping stone towards more sinister intentions. Which was not untrue.

“For now my objective is to try.” The patriarch of the family, Rickard Stark had apparently managed to sustain himself and his family in some manner, from what Rhaegar had managed to gather up until that point. The trouble was that the further north the wolves moved, the more they were lost from sight. In the end, as Maester Aemon had indicated, no one knew anything concrete.

“The condition of the North is a delicate one.” Aemon withdrew from his sleeve a small bit of parchment. “If Your Grace intends to find Rickard Stark and his kin, then I am compelled to point out that Lord Bolton has been recognised as Lord of Winterfell by the king himself.”

“The King never named the man in such a position. What my father did was merely refrain from offering protest.” Even in the face of deafening, or very near so, demands coming from a gathering of prominent lords. Nevertheless, his silence had been equated with acceptance and in time silence covered the matter.

But buried bodies had a way of seeking the surface. This one was no different. Lord Bolton had simply had the misfortune of not having dug a deep enough grave. Had the main any mind, he would have slain every last one of his opponents when he had the chance. Alas, better than he did not and better still that the Starks had a fine gathering of loyal men to turn to in their hour of need.

“Since he refrained, it was understood he was in agreement with the man’s actions. I am concerned, Your Grace, he will see this as defiance.” and the gods protect the man who defied the king. Rhaegar smiled lightly at the warning. “As is, His Majesty has been allowing a deal more on account of kinship.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The veritable mountain of berries rested upon the spread hide, bright red juice staining the skin burgundy. It would be a rather becoming colour if it did not burden her sight so, coated all over the child’s hands and face. Lyanna offered a low sigh and stretched one of her arms towards the boy. The mutinous line of his mouth remained firmly in place. “You cannot eat all of those. You’ll be sick.”  She might as well have been speaking to the cave walls for all the good that did.

“But I found them,” her son protested, stomping his foot in bristling indignation. “Why can I not have them?” The debate was not a new one. Not even an entertaining one by that point. All her little babe did was growl and moan in displeasure every single time she tried to do her motherly duty.

“The last time I allowed it, you were sick for more than a couple of days,” she answered back in a steely voice. Or she hoped it was that. With her child, naught else would work in such an instance. But then she had no wish of instilling fear in him. “Besides, you are not the only one here, are you?”

His eyes narrowed. “I gathered them.” She nodded patiently. “Then they must be mine.”

“And I hunted these rabbits.” Lyanna pointed towards the carcasses in the corner of the cave. “Should I claim they are mine and solely mine then?” Doubt crossed the child’s features, the blue of his eyes shining brightly as a ray fell down upon his face. “Or might be I should consider I am not the only one who needs food.”

Biting his lower lip, her son gazed away. Once more, she waited upon his word. Seeing as he would consider her point for some time yet, Lyanna shifted to a more comfortable position, grabbing one of the rabbits from the small pile. She shook the now limp body until her fingers sank into the soft fur. The hunt had goner well. In fact, she was mildly surprised at the success. The old Cow had predicted aught to such note, but it would be a long time before she fully trusted that one on any single issue. Even with Coldhand’s assurance.

“Well, have you decided, what shall I do with my rabbits?” The sharpened blade began cutting through the softened muscles. They still had more than enough firewood to roast them over. But she would need to see to their stock. It had gone down drastically. The last thing she wanted to deal with was a lack of firewood. Even with the warmer nights, it was by no means time to be sleeping without a flame’s protection. Not to mention that the Crow warned constantly against it.

One would think that after years and years of being stuck in his tree, the man would have learned at the very least a few ways of entertaining himself other than attempting to run her life for her. Even if he did mean well and she did owe him a debt.  For years he’d been frightening the living daylight out of her with those prophecies. One more tale of great wars and she would light a fire beneath the weirwood’s roots.

If only Coldhands would be swifter in return than he’d been in departure. She still wished to ask him about those hunting grounds he’d last mentioned to her. The distance seemed yet long to her, but if it meant returning with more game she would bring Eyron along and have him keep watch.

Her son knelt down in front of her, one chubby hand leaping out to grab onto her wrist. In his other hand he’d gathered a few of the dark coloured berries and held them up for inspection. “If I share–“

“Mother will share as well,” she offered, a slight hum of amusement squirming its way through her mind. The boy truly thought he would not have a morsel of meat if he did not, she could tell by the way his lower lip trembled. “It is a mother’s duty.” And might be even more so a mother’s pleasure. Especially when the bounty was plentiful. “We should take care of one another. I am all you have in this world. And you are all I have.”

Spirits lifting at her show of good humour, Eyron laughed and shook his head, pushing one of the berries up to her mouth. “We have uncle and the Crow, mother.” She’d never managed to share with him that he did indeed have uncles, three of them, blood of her own beside. Nay, for the moment he had Coldhands and the damned Crow. It was better than naught, she supposed, picking one of the berries between her lips. “And Mork.”

Aye, fearsome Mork. Coldhands still did not appreciate the ingenious correlation her son had made, though Lyanna had fully accepted Mork as the only possible appellative for their horned friend. Even more so when one considered Mork was fond of those white, beastly tasting roots. Left to his own devices he could eat a few baskets of those. Lyanna shuddered at the thought. Nevertheless, she managed a giggle, squeezing the treat Eyron had given her between sharp teeth, careful not to bite on her tongue as she’d done the first time they found berries. Haste was a cruel mistress.

“Mork would be most pleased to hear of this affection,” she assured the child. “Might be you could wash some of his kindred for me.” Eyron was not opposed by the way he gathered himself and ran to the basket, hauling in his arms a few long stalks. Moving the small armful towards the path, he dropped all the edible roots in the pot filled with melted snow and began washing them.

The boy splashed water around as he worked, speaking over the sound in a bid to catch her attention. “Mother, can I have more berries.”

“Just a little more,” she allowed, her eyes already moving to the figure approaching over the hill. It was not difficult to tell who it was that approached. The ragged black mound atop a hulking elk would be telling even if she hadn’t two thoughts to rub together. But his appearance, joyous as it was, gave her more than enough thoughts. She drew in a sharp breath, mind going back to the Crow and his words.

“Eyron, continue with your chore; mother will return in a moment.” She put down their prospective dinner, but still held the knife. The child she heard complying to her wishes, thought aught told her he would have wished more words from her. But then, at times he could be the mildest lamb. Which suited her just fine. Lyanna stalked out of the shelter, weapon in hand, stopping a short distance away, enough so that their conversation would not be heard.

The long, lean legs of the magnificent elk stopped in their motion, drawing both beast and rider to a halt. Coldhands greeted her with the usual throaty murmur she’d come to expect from him and renounced his seat. “I see you are hard at work, girl.”

“I see you are still gallivanting, old man.” A chuckle left his lips, muffled only slightly by the heavy coverings hiding his face from sight. “One would think the past few days woke within you a need for companionship to see you thus on my doorsteps.”

The chuckle remained, joined by her own light laughter. “Only because you make for such good company, and even old men like me enjoy it from time to time.” He brought a hand into a small pouch upon his saddle and pulled aught out. Lyanna blinked in confusion and leaned in closer.

“Is that a strip of cloth?” Black cloth. “Why are you bringing me that?” She accepted it when it was pushed into her hand, turning it from one side to the other. All that she could make out was a faint trace upon it.

“One of Craster’s women needs aid. She says she’ll pay in cloth.” Craster’s women were an unlucky lot. Lyanna’s expression pinched slightly. “You’ve aided them before. Would it make a difference now?”

“They are cursed by the gods,” she muttered, not with the greatest degree of pride. But she had broken bread with the man before and no matter how vile and repulsive she found him, this was not an act of kindness aimed towards the odious toad. “I thought you came for the other thing.”

“For that as well,” Coldhands confessed. His pause was joined by no indication of breath leaving his lungs. A reminder which Lyanna shied from ever so gently. “The Crow says it is time.”

“And how am I to aid Craster’s woman and do his bidding as well?” Did the fool forget she, unlike him, could not hop from root to root. Blasted creature.

“You will know, when the moment is upon us.”  She rolled her eyes at the witticism. “Best you tell the boy to start preparing what is needful.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mork= edible roots (e.g. carrots)


	5. VERY IMPORTANT

Hi everyone,

Sol here. So, I’m sure you’ve heard about the new link-tax and copyright reform the EU is looking to introduce into the member states of the union. To those of you who haven’t or are not from the EU, basically this new piece of legislation is looking into regulating all activities dependent on content (be it videos, songs, news articles, books etc). They would do that by monitoring what the users of a platform post and if copyrighted content is determined to be used, it would be considered criminal activity.

The only way it wouldn’t be deemed criminal activity is if the users paid a tax (hence why we call it a link-tax).

The vote will be held on the 20th of June and in case the law gets passed, I think it’s obvious I won’t be able to post anymore on any platform (be it this or FF.net or some other site). So what happens is this:  I am starting to archive all of my fics. Those of you who want to request a certain fic can find me [here](https://discord.gg/FZ3ep6r).

Further updates information is: [here](https://discord.gg/FZ3ep6r).

Questions are welcome, but for discretion’s sake, sensitive ones are better posted on discord, or if you must on my e-mail address.

Thank you for your time and sorry to bring you somewhat unpleasant news.

P.S. Every story with more than 20 subs will get a post like this. If you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. I’ll take them down after the 20th.


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